


Like Married Folks Ought To

by PurpleStarship



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Catholic Steve Rogers, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Socialist Steve Rogers, Steve and Bucky have been married since the dawning of time, Weddings, the Avengers are a bunch of nosey dorks, this is pure self-indulgence tbh, we don't know any canon post WS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29430960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleStarship/pseuds/PurpleStarship
Summary: "There isn't gonna be a wedding, Tony," Steve sighed."But Rooogers, everyone knows you guys are- what'd they say in ye olden days?- going steady?""Nobody's going steady, Stark," Bucky said, and Steve could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "We're both well over thirty.""Past thirty and still not wed?" Tony shouted and covered his mouth with his hand like he was a lady in a cartoon. "What will the neighbors say?!""Stop it, Tony," Steve sighed."But why?!" Tony said, making puppy eyes at them. "You would be perfect together! We'd-""Because we are already married, dammit!" Bucky shouted irritatedly and yanked a chain from underneath his under armor. There, among his dog tags, hung a well-worn golden band.***Steve and Bucky tell their friends the story of how they got married not-so-legally eighty years ago.Featuring: The Avengers being every bit as endearingly annoying as you'd expect your family to be, one (1) exhausted priest (seriously, someone give this man a break), and two super dorks stupidly in love since they were just two kids from Brooklyn :3
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 21
Kudos: 167





	Like Married Folks Ought To

Like Married Folks Ought To:

They'd gone to Clint's, mostly because it was closest. The little Bed-Stuy apartment was too small to properly fit eight grown people and an over-excited golden retriever, really, but in their collective exhaustion, none of them cared much for logistics. It had been a routine op, up until the point that the Hydra goon had called his merry little friends to come out and play. Needless to say, the mission had taken them much longer than planned.

Tony had claimed the creaky pull-out couch as soon as they got there and lounged on it like he was attending a Roman feast. He'd called Pepper even before he'd properly gotten out of his suit and was now nursing some of Clint's very terrible, very bitter expresso and pressing a cloth to a particularly nasty cut on his forehead.

Sam and Bruce had gone for the kitchen chairs because they were apparently the only civilized people on the team, while Steve and Bucky were sprawled across the kitchen bench seat with their limbs all tangled up, Thor was keeling in front of the kitchenette to pet Lucky, Clint was perched on the countertop and Nat had simply lain down on the floor next to the coat rack - boots, armor and all.

"Stop fussing, Buck, I'm _fine_ ," Steve whined and tried to ward off Bucky's hands carefully checking over his ribs.

"Like hell you are," Bucky growled. "It's like I tell you every _GOD damn_ time-" His tirades descended into indecipherable snarling, and he moved his hands up to clasp Steve's face in an iron-grip to inspect a swollen bruise on his cheekbone. "Fucking self-sacrificing idiot, you are. Goddamn miracle I got even _one_ brown hair left, you-"

"Oh, lay off!" Steve protested weakly but didn't try to stop him anymore.

"Don't you ever do anything like that ever _again_ , huh?" Bucky said hoarsely, still cupping his face roughly and giving him a little shake. Steve knew all too well that beneath the facade of annoyance lay an age-old fear that Bucky had carried with him since the time they still sported short pants and skinned knees. Bucky's big, sad eyes bore into his persistently. "Don't you ever do this to me, kid."

Steve let his gaze fall downwards. His head pounded something fierce, and it hurt to move but facing the fear in Bucky's eyes hurt even more.

"Promise?" Bucky whispered, pleadingly, _pointlessly_ , because he _knew_ Steve had never been able to keep out of trouble to save his life.

"Promise," Steve agreed, looking up into Bucky's eyes. _I'll try. I always try._

Someone was clearing their throat.

When Steve looked up, he found the whole team staring at them.

"Well, this is awkward," Clint commented from his spot on the countertop.

"You guys are like an old married couple, I swear," Sam said, shaking his head incredulously, in a _why-do-I-even-put-up-with-you-people_ kind of way. "It's like watching an episode of I Love Lucy or something!"

"An episode of what?" Steve asked in confusion. He was pretty sure he'd not yet reached that item on his list.

"Never mind," Sam muttered.

"No, but you are _so_ right, Wilson!" Tony had jumped off the couch and hopped onto the kitchen table, planting himself at an irritating five-inch distance from Steve's face. "Spangles and Robocop are _soooo_ married. Say when's the wedding? Oh oh, can I plan it? Pepper says I'm very bad at planning things but I beg to differ, I mean-"

"There isn't gonna be a wedding, Tony," Steve sighed.

"But Rooogers, everyone knows you guys are- what'd they say in ye olden days?- _going steady_?"

Steve could feel his patience stretching thin like bubble gum. He was pretty sure if he'd been a foot smaller and 120 pounds lighter, Tony would've become acquainted with the full force of his bony knuckles right there and then. As it was, he resigned himself to breathing steadily and counting down from ten.

"Nobody's going steady, Stark," Bucky said, and Steve could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "We're both well over thirty. Nobody's going steady by _thirty._ "

"Ah-ha!" Tony shouted and pointed his finger at them forcefully. Steve was going to ask Bruce if Tony should really be having any more coffee. _Ever_ again. "So we gotta hurry! Past thirty and still not wed?" -he covered his mouth with his hand like he was a lady in a cartoon- "What will the neighbors say?!"

Behind him, Clint started giggling.

"Aww jeez, give it a rest, Tony, would ya?" Steve muttered.

"Aww, isn't this lovely? I love it when you go all Cagney on me when you're cranky," Tony went on. "Maybe we could make it your wedding theme: brick walls and arrow-collars. I can see it already!"

"Are we to celebrate the honorable Captain and his faithful Sergeant's nuptial feast?" Thor shouted, arriving at the table carrying Lucky in his arms like a doll. "My wholehearted congratulations go out to you, my friends and brothers in arms!"

He clapped their shoulders one after the other so hard that Steve found himself knocked into the table.

"No. Tony. Stop it, there isn't going to be a wedding!"

"And why not?" Tony said, making puppy eyes at them. "You would be perfect together! We'd-"

"Because we are _already_ married, dammit!" Bucky shouted irritatedly and yanked the chain around his neck from underneath his black under armor. There, among his tags, hung a well-worn golden band.

Tony let out a comical gasp.

The rest of the room fell silent.

"Happy now?" Steve asked, pulling out his own tags and ring and letting them fall open on his chest.

"You - you are _together_?" Tony asked, incredulous. "Like… _actually_ together?!"

"That's…generally a condition for being married, yeah," Bucky deadpanned.

"That…explains _so_ much," said Sam flatly.

"But?!" Tony said, gaping at them and opening and closing his mouth like a fish. "Why didn't you invite me - Why didn't you invite _us_? Why didn't you let me plan it? We could've had a huge party in the Tower! I'd've even let you borrow my favorite plane for your honeymoon! Why didn't you-?"

"Because you weren't _born_ yet, wiseass." Bucky buried his head in his hands and started massaging his temples.

" _Oh_ ," said Tony.

It was quiet for a second.

"Gonna catch flies that way, Tony," Bucky said, leaning back on the bench and casually resting his arm on the backrest behind Steve. Tony closed his mouth.

"Well, are you not going to delight us with an account of your wedding feast?" Thor asked. "I do so love a good romance story!"

"There ain't…much to talk about," Steve said.

"Now that is a lie," Nat said, sitting up and looking at them expectantly with a cat-like grin on her face. "You're sitting on a story here and I am going to get it out of you one way or another."

"Shut it, Паучок!" Bucky said fondly, before smirking at them all and switching on his storyteller voice Steve remembered from countless nights of tucking in Bucky's sisters. He almost started laughing when he saw Bucky's serious expression. "Well, if you insist…It all starts with Stevie here kneeling in a dimly-lit confessional in St. Ann's up in Vinegar Hill."

Bruce choked on his tea and would only stop coughing after Thor had given him a few enthusiastic slaps on the back.

"Oh jeez, Doc, you must have a depraved mind," Bucky joked playfully. "Steve was by himself, obviously. I wasn't there with him. Sadly."

"You are terrible," Steve groaned. "You are terrible and disgusting and I don't know why I put up with you."

"Oh yes you do, baby."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say."

"Maybe you should start telling the story, Stevie. I mean, I wasn't even there for that first part."

Steve looked up to find all his friends staring at him expectantly.

"Ok," he said finally, fiddling with the ring on his chain. "So, it's August 1937 and I'm at confession like any other Saturday…"

***

Father Nolan knew Steve Rogers all too well.

He'd been there for his confirmation and his first communion, and for countless years of Catechism and service as altar boy with his mouth still bloody from a fight he'd picked with another kid before Sunday Mass. He'd been there for Steve's baptism, and he'd been there for Sarah and Joseph's wedding - his mother's apparent baby bump contrasting sharply with her girlishly thin body and his father a terrified young lad of merely nineteen looking sharp in his pressed uniform.

He'd been there to hear Steve's every confession, week after week since the boy was eight years old.

The thing about Steve's confessions was that they tended to be long. Longer than any confession had any right to be, really. If asked, Father Nolan would say that the lad was burdened with an unhealthy amount of scrupulosity, listing every sin he could possibly think of, lest he forget anything. Sometimes, Father Nolan was convinced that the kid's only real sin was his martyr-like complex of wanting to carry all the burdens of the world on his too-small shoulders

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," Steve's deep voice sounded from the other side. "It's been a week since my last confession." -he heard Steve shifting around on the floor, the fabric of his pants rustling against the wooden knee rest- "Well, you know how my confessions usually start, Father, …"

"I'm going to stop you right there, child," Father Nolan said. reaching up with his right hand to press at his temples. "I really, _really_ do not care to hear about…any…acts of sodomy between you and James Buchanan again. It's all I've been hearing from you these three years!" -he sighed- "you _do_ realize that to receive absolution one should be fully contrite in confession?"

There was a beat of silence on the other side.

"It's not like I can stop, Father," Steve said then, quietly. "I love him."

Father Nolan breathed in and out, slowly, deliberately.

He'd seen those boys grow up together, had seen them playing footsie underneath the pew during Catechism class and he'd seen them clinging to one another when Sarah Rogers was lowered down into the earth to come home to the Lord. In almost fifteen years, he'd never seen them apart for longer than the spells of sickness that kept Steve bed-bound. Where one went, the other followed; there was almost something inevitable to it, Father Nolan thought. He wasn't quite sure if he even wanted to know the amount of evil the enemy would have to conjure to separate them.

"I'm going to ask you something, Steven," he said. "Is he good to you?"

Steve was quiet again, stunned into silence by his question. Father Nolan smiled. It took a lot to catch that kid off-guard.

"Yes, Father," he replied, a little shakily but with the kind of certainty Father Nolan would have liked to hear from his congregation when reciting the Apostle's Creed. "Yes, he's real good to me. There's no one could be better to me, I know it." -he chuckled a little- "To be honest, I think he's the only one who could ever put up with me, Father. You know how I get when I'm mad…"

Father Nolan didn't know whether to smile or sigh at that. He knew _all about_ Steve's temper.

"Is he serious about you?" he continued.

"Very," Steve said, sounding sure as anything. "He keeps saying, had either of us been a dame -a lady, that is, sorry, Father- he'd have dragged me down the aisle the minute I turned eighteen."

Father Nolan found his mouth stretching in a wide grin at this anecdote of naive young love. He remembered being twenty and dreaming of marrying the love of his life. He remembered Eileen’s face, her cheeks wet with tears, when he told her that he wished there was a way for them to be together but that there simply _wasn't_ \- that he had to follow his calling and serve.

"And," he asked further, his voice a little hoarse. "Do you trust him?"

"With my life."

Father Nolan took a deep breath and crossed himself.

"Lord, give me strength for what I'm about to do," he muttered before raising his voice again. "You and James Buchanan," he said. "You are to meet me at midnight in the vestibule. I'm going to make sure the door stays unlocked. _You_ ' _re_ going to make sure no one sees you coming. Tell _no_ - _one_. " -he squeezed his eyes shut, realizing- "This could get me excommunicated."

"Father?" Steve asked, incredulously.

"What, haven't you been honest before? Don’t you trust him?"

"No, I do, I _do_. It's just-" Steve stammered. "I don't understand."

"So, go," Father Nolan said. "before I change my mind, lad."

On the other side, he could hear Steve standing up.

"What…what about my absolution, Father?" he asked. "I haven't even said an Act of Contrition."

"There's nothing to absolve,” Father Nolan said decidedly.

***

Bucky awoke sometime in the late afternoon, judging by the angle of the sun peeking through the window. He'd spent the week on night shift, barely getting to see Steve at all, who left the apartment for work at Mr. Abraham's and his art classes usually a mere thirty minutes after Bucky got home.

He'd planned on sleeping in at least until dinner. No such fucking luck, it seemed. The reason he'd woken, he could hear before even opening his eyes.

"Steve?" he groaned and squeezed his eyes shut again. "The fuck you doin'?"

When he finally managed to crack open an eye, he found the bedroom a mess. Steve had pulled out every drawer on the dresser and emptied their closet and nightstands. All their meagre possessions lay strewn across the floor: from Bucky's holey Christmas sweater and the old, paint-splattered shirt Steve wore to class, to Bucky's well-loved copy of The Time Machine, Steve's collected issues of the Catholic Worker and his other little socialist magazines, and both their baptismal candles in their wooden boxes.

Bucky rubbed his eyes and let his head fall back onto the pillow. Fuck, he was sore. His shoulders ached, and his back, and his thighs too. The foreman had kept them longer than usual the night before because of the additional fruit shippings that had arrived. In consolation, he'd let them browse the squished fruit that had come bruised from overseas.

He'd been over the moon about that, obviously. Steve could always do with more vitamins as far as Bucky was concerned. He'd once heard a doctor say how important citrus fruits were to build a decent immune system, and he cursed every week he couldn't afford to buy them for Steve. Oranges had no business being this fucking expensive, honestly.

Steve wasn't doing all that bad this year, though, all things considered. Now that Bucky was working both the docks and taking the occasional shift over at Marco's garage, and Steve got an employer's discount at the grocer's, they were faring better than most of their friends. Steve had even put on a little weight these past few months and it wasn't like Bucky could complain about _that_ , considering how much fun it was to rile Steve up by pinching his ass or thighs when passing him in the apartment.

"Bucky, where's all of ma's stuff?" Steve's face appeared above him, looking somewhat frantic and dusty from sticking his nose in all those long-unopened boxes.

"What?" Bucky asked in confusion. In all honesty, he'd been much more concerned with the question of whether he should turn around and try to doze for a little while longer or pull Steve down into bed by his unbuttoned shirt collar and kiss the dust from his angry nose than to listen to Steve's queries.

"Ma's. Stuff," Steve looked at him impatiently and pressed his hands into his hips.

Bucky yawned.

"I put that in the cupboard in the living room," he said, raising his eyebrows. " _Someone_ has to tidy up in this household, after all, and it ain't gonna be you."

"Whaddaya talking about?!" Steve said, jutting his jaw. "I do clean up."

"If that's what you wanna call it…" Bucky replied, swinging his legs out of bed and stretching his sore arms. No use trying to fall asleep again now anyway.

He plodded after Steve, careful to avoid the items on the floor. Steve was standing in front of the cupboard, looking over the contents searchingly. Bucky came to stand behind him, wrapped his arms around Steve's waist, and buried his nose in the nape of his neck. Steve's skin was so warm and soft against his face, and the familiar, homey smell was soothing enough to almost make Bucky drift off again.

"You gonna fall asleep like that?" Steve chuckled, absentmindedly stroking Bucky's forearms with his slender fingers.

"Hmmm," Bucky mumbled into Steve's downy hair.

"There's coffee on the stove for you," Steve said, letting go of Bucky's wrists to pull a box out of the cupboard.

"Aw, you're a peach, doll face," Bucky said, pecking Steve on the cheek enthusiastically. "How'd I ever deserve you, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah, get on with it, ya big lug," Steve said, shooing him off, but the smile tugging on the corners of his mouth and the blush on his cheeks betrayed him.

"What are you even looking for?" asked Bucky a couple of minutes later, sitting on the windowsill with one leg dangling in the air. It wasn't unbearably hot out, not the way it must have been a couple of hours ago but still too hot for Bucky to even think about touching the metal of the fire escape. He leaned back against the window frame, content with the way the breeze coming down Bridge Street from the river was sweeping through his hair and bringing momentary relief. A cigarette was dangling from the corner of his mouth, his hands were cradling his cup of joe, and his eyes rested on his personal little eye candy buzzing around the apartment like a blizzard come early.

"My old folks' wedding bands, Steve muttered, elbows deep in a cardboard box he hadn't been able to look at since Sarah's death one year ago.

"The fuck you need those for?" Bucky asked, furrowing his brow. He put out his smoke on the wood of the window frame and downed the last dregs of his coffee.

"Our wedding," Steve replied without looking up.

"Sorry?" Bucky coughed.

"You heard me right."

"Uhm-" Bucky blinked. He stood up and closed the window. "I…what?"

Finally, Steve looked up at him from his spot on the floor.

"Didn't you mean it?" he asked simply. "When you said you'd marry me if you could?"

"I…of course I meant it," Bucky said, sitting down on the floor opposite Steve, their legs touching. "Every word of it, I swear to God. Honest, sweetheart. I mean your cooking's shit and you leave your fucking paints and brushes all over the floor for me to stumble over but you never tell me to shut up when I feel like rambling about H.G. Wells again late at night and you got a pretty cute ass so I guess you'd make an alright wife - _ouch_ stop kicking me! Uncle! Uncle!"

"Buck," Steve said with his baby blues so open and honest that Bucky put all joking aside in the blink of an eye. "I'm being serious right now. Would you…if you could?"

"Yeah," he said. Absently, he reached out to cradle Steve’s ankle, tenderly rubbing his instep and massaging the sole of his foot. "You know that, Steve. You've always known that. Since we were stupid little kids you've known that. I want to grow old and gray with you. I want to come home to your stupid mug every day and I want you to be the last thing I see at night. I want - God, I want that more than anything." -he lifted the hand that wasn’t holding onto Steve’s ankle to rub over his face, trying and failing to get rid of a weariness that had nothing to do with his long night at work - "We can't, though, Stevie, and you know that just as well as I do, so why tear up the whole apartment over a couple of rings, huh?"

It was quiet for a moment, then:

"What if we could, though?"

Bucky looked up. "Steve? What did you…?"

"Hah!” Steve shouted, holding up a little velvety pouch. “Found them!"

***

"Are you sure about this?" Bucky asked him for what felt like the hundredth time, looking over his shoulder time and time again even though there was nothing incriminating about two young people out and about late on a Saturday night.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Steve said, rolling his eyes. "Are _you_?"

"I just mean - I mean, how do you know he ain't snitched on you and has a couple of squad cars filled with flatfoots waiting on us?"

"Seal of confession."

"How come you fucking always assume the best of people?" Bucky muttered.

"It's called Catholicism, you should try it sometime."

"Ah, so this whole marriage spiel is your way of getting me back in the fold?" Bucky hissed. "Because that ain't gonna happen, I can tell you as much. I'm still not sure about Father telling the truth here. I'll believe it when I see it."

"See, that's your fucking problem, Buck," Steve muttered.

“You know, maybe we just…shouldn’t push our luck,” Bucky went on.

“Our problems stem from our acceptance of this filthy, rotten system,” Steve said, pulling Bucky forward by the sleeve of his jacket without looking back at him. “Dorothy Day.”

“That one of your socialists again?” Bucky sighed.

"You don't stop flapping your gums and _I'm_ gonna be the one to change my mind."

They reached the church just as the clock struck twelve. There were, of course, no police cars waiting on the curb, and Steve elbowed Bucky in the side to say _I told you so_.

At the door, they were greeted by Father Nolan, who quickly ushered them inside and locked the door behind them.

"Steven," he greeted. "James. Long time, no see."

"Yeah…uhm, sorry 'bout that, Father," he said blushing.

Steve suppressed his giggling and reached for the Holy Water to bless himself.

"You told no one, I hope," Father Nolan said, smoothing down his cassock and looking visibly nervous.

"No one, Father," Steve said, shaking his head.

Father Nolan nodded.

"Alright, Steven. Will you wait for us by the altar of Our Lady?", he asked. "I am under no illusion that James here will turn into a weekly churchgoer after tonight but I will not forsake the rules to the extent of not hearing his confession before we do this."

"Forgive me, Father, but aren't you 'forsaking the rules' by doing this, anyway?" Bucky said.

"Oh jeez, are you sure you want to be stuck with this wise guy for the rest of your days, Steven?", Father asked, only partly joking.

Steve looked over at Bucky, took in his winking eye and his wagging brows, and felt his grin stretch wide.

"Yes, Father. I am sure," he said.

From the side altar, he watched Bucky being shooed off into the confessional. The church wasn't lit, except for the sanctuary lamp and the six candles standing left and right from the tabernacle on the main altar. If someone were to pass the church right now, they would never guess that someone was inside, let alone what they were about to do. The thought made him feel somewhat giddy.

He lit a candle by the Marian altar and said a decade of the rosary for his mother's sake.

"I wish you were here, ma. I miss you so bad. Some days it hurts so bad I can’t hardly sleep," he whispered, the cold stone step digging into his kneecaps. "I don't know if you'd tell me I was crazy for doing this but, ma, I swear this is all I ever wanted. I don’t think I coulda ended up anywhere else."

When Bucky and the priest entered the nave of the church again, there was a curious expression on Bucky's face. He seemed thoughtful, in a way, looking over at Steve as though he was looking to find both questions and answers on his face.

It was a queer sort of feeling, standing in front of the altar, knowing what they were about to receive the Holy Sacrament. It didn't feel real, especially considering that he'd never even thought this possible even in his most utopic dreams, and he was strangely reminded of playing pretend with Bucky and Becca all those years ago, dreaming up lives of infinite wealth where they would summer in the Hamptons and have dinner with kings clad in velvet. It felt right, though, having Bucky beside him in this moment. Lord, it felt right. To be frank, he'd never been able to imagine himself sharing a life with another person but the one beside him, try as he might. Sometimes, he was convinced that the trajectory of their lives had been set to lead them there from the moment they exchanged names in first grade, almost fifteen years ago.

God made no mistakes and there was no such thing as fate. They were both right where they ought to be.

Bucky smiled at him, and Steve's world fell into place.

"Boys, it seems that in the absence of a witness I'm going to have to step in here," Father Nolan said, looking at them warmly. "So, shall we begin? In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti."

"Amen," Steve breathed.

"James," Father Nolan asked gently. "Wilt thou take Steven, here present, for thy lawful husband, according to the rite of our Holy Mother the Church?"

"I will," Bucky replied sincerely, his voice echoing silently through the unlit nave of the old building. When Steve looked up he found Bucky's eyes glistening with tears.

"Crybaby," he whispered fondly and got on his tiptoes to knock their shoulders together and hear Bucky's wet laugh ringing through the empty church.

So, they were asked their consent and swore to do what they'd been doing all their lives - to look out for each other for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health until death did them part. Steve put his Joseph's ring on Bucky's ring finger, and Bucky put Sarah's much too small ring on Steve's pinkie, and thus they were married in the eyes of the Lord.

When Father Nolan started reciting freely from the Book of Ruth, Steve felt his hand -so firmly clasped in Bucky's- starting to tremble. The whole thing had felt surreal up to this point but now that he was listening to those words, he'd heard uttered countless times a couple in their parish had received the Holy Sacrament, and watching the light of the candles flickering across Bucky's face -his most beloved subject- realization hit and he felt like sinking right down to his knees.

_"But Ruth urged Naomi,_

_'Do not press me to leave you_

_or to turn back from following you!_

_Where you go, I will go;_

_Where you lodge, I will lodge;_

_your people shall be my people,_

_and your God my God._

_Where you die, I will die_

_-there will I be buried._

_May the Lord do thus and so to me,_

_and more as well, if even death parts me from you!'"_

Yes, Steve thought. _Yes_.

And when he knelt for Father Nolan to place the Eucharist on his tongue, tears were dripping down his cheeks for the first time since he’d laid his mother to rest.

***

"You know the purpose of a Catholic wedding, boys, and you know just as well as I do that you cannot fulfil it," Father Nolan said afterward, stopping them by the door with his hands on their shoulders and a stern look on his face. "But you will double your efforts where you can. You will help to raise James' sisters when your father is out at the pub again. Steve, you will make sure they know the Our Father when they enter Catechism class, and James, you will sing them to sleep when things get loud at night. When you pass the orphanage, you will stop to ask the kids for a ball game. When they show an interest in art, you will sit down on the stoop and draw with them. You are going to do this right."

"Yes, Father," they replied. When they opened the door, they were met with a gust of mild, mid-summer air.

"Oh, and Steven," Father Nolan called and Steve turned to find the priest looking at him with an expression of fond exasperation. "Please, for the love of all that's dear to you, lad: keep your confessions to your bad temper and your occasional wrathfulness from now on. I _beg_ of you."

***

"I can't believe we just did that!" Bucky kept saying, shaking Steve by the arm around his shoulders. There was a kick in his step and he was sporting a grin a mile wide -not the Gary-Cooper-smirk he'd copied from posters at the pictures, but a genuine, childlike smile buzzing with glee. "Can you believe we just did that?"

Steve laughed, knocking his hip into Bucky's thigh to push him off the sidewalk, and they spent the whole block giggling and playing like schoolboys. The streets were mostly empty, with most people their age still doing the jive and the lindy to the point of bleeding toes at the dance hall or downing glasses of the cheap stuff at the bar. The only noise came from a police siren going off a couple of blocks away, the sounds of someone's shellacs drifting out of a window, and the incessant mewling of the street cats. Somewhere out of a dead-end, the tell-tale summer smell of hot-boiled garbage soup came wafting out onto the street.

Steve didn't think he could ever feel this at home anywhere else on the whole damn planet.

The relative emptiness of the street made Steve stupid and careless and he reached up and touched his hand to Bucky's cheek to feel the fresh stubble beneath his fingertips and the way Bucky couldn't seem to help the upwards-pull of the corners of his mouth, making little dimples for Steve's thumb to fit right into.

"Bucky!"

Lightning-quick, Steve let his hand fall, inching away until they were at an acceptable distance. After a moment, Steve could make out the Rossis stumbling towards them. The brothers were childhood friends of theirs and Marco had managed to wheedle their father into letting Bucky help out at the family garage every other day.

"Bucky!" Marco shouted, dragging his apparently fully sloshed brother with him down the street. "Hey, where you been? We've been missin' you at the dance hall! The _sweetest_ dames you ever did see tonight, I tell ya! - Hi there, Steve-o!"

"Tony got it good, didn't he?" Bucky quipped, seeming his usual happy-go-lucky self to anyone who wasn't Steve.

"Yeah, damn lightweight, that one," Marco said, hauling his brother up again. "Listen, we was gonna go grab a drink before we head home. Mamma's gonna have my head for bringing that stupid kid home with an applejack gait anyway, might as well make the most of the night. Care to join us, fellas?"

"Listen, Marco," Steve said, furrowing his brow apologetically. "Tonight's...not so good, ok? Another time, maybe?"

"My, my, Steven Grant! Should we be worried?" Marco gasped theatrically. "You've never been one to turn down a good pint! You alright? Here, let me check your temperature!"

"Lay off, Rossi," Steve muttered.

"You don't seem so good, either, Buck.” He laughed. "What're you hiding your hand for? You smuggling for the heirs of Legs Diamond, now? Because, I gotta tell you, pal: You really oughta work on your stealthiness."

"Busted my knuckles on some shmuck's face," Bucky lied seamlessly, "Bastard was hecklin' a lady."

"Yeah, me too," Steve said.

"Aren't you right-handed, Rogers?" Marco asked. "I sat behind you in school for ten whole years..."

"Listen, it was real nice meetin' you, pal. Raise one for us, we'll tag along next time!" Bucky said in an attempt at damage control, and dragged Steve down the street.

"Sure thing," Marco said, seemingly confused. Steve almost felt sorry for him. "See you at the garage on Monday, Bucky."

***

"Jeez, that was close." Steve breathed hard, closing the door behind himself and laughing uncontrollably, high on excitement.

"Close to what?" Bucky giggled. "It's not like he coulda fucking guessed what we been up to."

The wood creaked when he leaned against the door next to Steve, catching his breath.

Steve's breathing came fast and shallow from the way they'd been racing each other up the stairs but it wasn't the bad kind of shortness of breath that left him gasping with his leaden lungs too busy filling with fear to take in air, but instead the kind that took him back to endless summer afternoons spent on playgrounds, chasing after the one person who’d ever really cared to _see_ him, laughing and squealing until they’d collapse on the ground, breathing and shrieking and jabbing each other in the sides

"You ok?" Bucky asked, the way he always did, and found Steve's hand without taking his eyes off Steve's face.

Steve nodded, mesmerized by the way the light from the streetlamp outside reflected on Bucky, let him shine in shades of grey like a picture-perfect silver screen still. He opened his lips on a smile and - there it was, Steve's favorite thing about Bucky's face: The little snaggletooth peaking forward, giving him a boyish sort of appearance in spite of the coarse stubble and broad shoulders. It was silly maybe, but in all the years that had passed between them, that endearingly crooked tooth was the one thing that had stayed the same.

Steve had spent hours upon hours sketching that particular tooth, surrounded by plush dark lips and a playfully curled-up tongue. He’d never once gotten even remotely close to the original, though. And, if Steve was being completely honest, he much preferred having its indents pressed into the thin meat of his own body, than tracing its form on a sheet of paper.

"Eyes are up here, doll face." Bucky grinned before - finally - stooping down to cradle Steve's jaw and press their lips together. It was sweet, Bucky's kiss, and it still managed to sweep Steve's feet off his feet even now after what must have been thousands of kisses shared. Bucky angled their heads and murmured sweet nothings into Steve’s mouth and soon the arms snaking around his waist were the only thing keeping Steve upright.

Bucky's tongue found its way into his mouth, and he sighed because it was him and Bucky, and from now on it would be so until the end of time.

It wasn't like their first kisses, uncoordinated and burning in their teenage hunger, when Steve had been sixteen and thought that no one had ever loved the way they did.

He still burned for Bucky, and deep down he knew he always would; one look from him and he'd probably always be turned back into that sixteen-year-old kid, stupid in love, again. Now, though, that flame wasn't all that encompassing anymore.

It was more like coming home after a long, hard day, and that feeling of comfort and calm that would come once you shut the door behind you and took off your hat. It was that feeling of not having to fight to prove your worth, of being seen, of being taken care of.

Of never once having to doubt.

Bucky's kisses grew more insisting, pushing Steve back against the door and digging his fingers into Steve's sides hard enough to bruise for days.

"Buck," Steve sighed, almost forgetting where he was going when Bucky wedged his thigh between Steve's legs and moved on to kiss a sloppy line from the corner of his mouth down along his neck, stopping only to suckle at the soft skin behind his ear. "Buck. The. window."

"It's dark inside, anyhow," Bucky muttered, his hot, wet breath ghosting over Steve's skin. "No one's seeing a thing in here."

Bucky was obviously striving for nonchalant and collected but his breathing was labored and his hips seemed to get more impatient by the minute. He rocked them into Steve’s and when they moved together, Steve's mind blacked out.

"'Sides," Bucky said slyly. "Ain't I allowed to kiss on my on my sweetheart, huh?"

"Not your sweetheart," Steve quipped back reflexively.

Suddenly, the floor underneath Steve's feet disappeared, and he yelped, clutching at Bucky's lapels, as he found himself lifted bridal-style.

"Let me down, Buck, I swear!-" he started, but Bucky quickly shut him up with a kiss, tugging at his lip with that beloved snaggle tooth of his.

"You're right." Bucky grinned down at him in the dark and walked him over towards the bedroom, carefully avoiding the mess Steve had left earlier in his quest to find his parents' rings and closing the curtains on the way. "Not just my sweetheart. My _spouse_."

Steve really couldn't argue with that.

***

"So, that's your big love story, huh?" Sam asked. Tony still sat there, open-mouthed and gaping.

"Wait, so this means you guys have been married for eighty years next week?" Bruce said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"I suppose so," Bucky said, turning to give Steve a soft smile.

"That's sweet," Nat said sincerely, letting that careful mask of indifference slip for a moment to reveal her genuine happiness.

Steve felt himself blush. He'd never told the story to anyone before. Not to anyone who hadn't been present that night, anyway.

"And thus, their lives were changed forevermore," Thor said, sighing dreamily and resting his chin in his chocolate-y hand. He'd found a bag of Mars bar somewhere in Clint's cupboard and had been munching on them for the better part of their story.

"Hate to say it, pal," Bucky laughed and squeezed Steve's shoulder gently. "But our lives pretty much stayed the same. Going to work, coming home to this idiot's stupid face" - Bucky pinched his thigh and Steve shrieked in protest- "Sunday dinner at my old folks', following Steve to his Socialist rallies to make sure he wasn’t getting his ass handed to him too bad, going to the pictures if we had a quarter to spare, ..." -he smiled wide, that little crooked tooth on display and Steve felt his heart flutter in his chest- “Nothing changed. Just our little old life, you know.”

Steve found his lips tugging up without his say-so. Bucky was right: Nothing had changed because they had already spent every moment living the way married folks ought to.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this :)  
> This is the first thing I've written in A While!  
> <33333
> 
> ***
> 
> Btw, this story was partly inspired by two elderly ladies in my parish who got married in a similar way in the 50s (one of whom was my Catechism teacher back in primary school :3), and while the official stance of the Church is still far from accepting, stories like the one this little fic is inspired by only go to show that we've always been here and that -one way or another- love will always win<333


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